------
The final matches of the preliminaries thundered forward as the crowd's fervor reached a fever pitch. The sky above Moonlight Plaza had dimmed slightly, not from clouds—but from the rising tension that clung to the air like a storm waiting to break.
Xu Ming stood quietly near the edge of the staging area, Voidcleaver resting across his back, its worn surface faintly pulsing with qi. His previous victory had sent ripples through the clans and sects alike. Now, his presence drew eyes not just of curiosity—but of fear, envy, and calculation.
"Next match! Xu Ming of the Iron Vein Slums versus Wei Zilan of the Hollow Hand Sect!"
A hush fell once again.
Wei Zilan wasn't affiliated with any local clan. A rogue who had joined the tournament claiming allegiance to the Hollow Hand Sect—a minor, wandering group with a dark reputation. Rumors swirled around him like mist: poison techniques, assassinations, cultivators who vanished after duels. And when he entered the stage, the arena seemed to darken.
He was gaunt, his skin pale and eyes sunken. His robes were black with silver embroidery, and a wicked dagger spun lazily between his fingers. He smiled, but there was no warmth in it.
"So you're the slum rat that thinks he's a dragon," Wei Zilan sneered, voice dry as sand. "Let's see how deep your roots go."
Xu Ming's face didn't change. He stepped into the arena as the referee raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Wei Zilan blurred forward, but not like Zhao Lin's thunderous charge. His movements were slithering, silent—like a serpent hunting in tall grass. Venomous Qi leaked from his fingers as his dagger aimed straight for Xu Ming's ribs.
Xu Ming's eyes flared with silver light.
Everything slowed.
The dagger came not just with physical threat, but soul corrosion—a hidden second strike layered atop the first. But Xu Ming saw it all. He tilted Voidcleaver just so, deflecting the blow with a jarring clang and stepped inward.
Wei Zilan twisted like smoke, vanishing and reappearing behind Xu Ming, striking low, high, then feinting—
But Xu Ming was already moving. One breath, one motion, and Voidcleaver swept outward in a brutal arc.
CLANG!
Wei Zilan's arm jolted back. His dagger cracked at the edge, and his smile began to falter. He hissed and jumped away, making a single hand sign.
Black mist exploded from beneath his robe.
From the smoke, half-formed shadows lunged at Xu Ming—phantoms, forged from twisted soul Qi.
"Hollow Art: Phantom Maw!"
The crowd screamed in warning, but Xu Ming remained still. His Heaven-Shattering Sight pierced the illusions. To him, they were nothing more than tangled Qi threads, shivering at weak points.
He stepped forward and struck.
"Tyrant's Grasp."
The Qi in his veins surged like a flood. His muscles expanded subtly beneath his robe, and Voidcleaver flashed down.
The phantoms shattered.
Wei Zilan barely raised his blade in time—but Xu Ming was faster.
CRACK!
The dagger snapped. Blood burst from Wei Zilan's chest as he flew across the arena and crashed into the stone. He coughed once, groaned, and went limp.
"Winner—Xu Ming!"
But as the cheers erupted, Xu Ming's eyes narrowed.
He felt it—an unnatural ripple in the air. A thread of killing intent…
From behind.
Wei Zilan stood. His body trembled as dark mist coiled around him, bleeding from the cracks in his skin. His Qi had gone wild—unstable. His veins bulged, and his fingers twitched in grotesque angles.
He hadn't accepted defeat.
He lunged at Xu Ming from behind—silent, fangs bared, dagger now coated in necrotic Qi.
"DIE, YOU LOWBORN—"
SHNK.
A spray of blood stained the arena.
The crowd gasped.
Xu Ming hadn't turned—but his sword had already moved.
Voidcleaver jutted clean through Wei Zilan's chest, the blade humming with suppressed fury. Xu Ming's body trembled only slightly as he withdrew the sword in one smooth motion.
Wei Zilan collapsed, dead.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then murmurs. Then shouting.
"He killed him!" "But the match was over—" "That man tried to assassinate him!" "What was that Qi…?"
From the stands, Liang Fei narrowed his eyes. "Dark Qi. He wasn't here to win. He was planted to kill."
Rong Yixuan gripped the armrest of her seat, her eyes flitting to Xu Ming. "Someone is testing him."
Qin Mo smiled thinly and tapped his fan on his knee. "Good. Let's keep turning up the heat."
Xu Ming turned from the body, face unreadable. He sheathed Voidcleaver and walked off the stage.
Lin Feng was waiting, but before he could say anything, the next announcement came.
"Lin Feng of the Lin Clan versus Qin Mo of the Qin Clan!"
Xu Ming blinked.
Lin Feng stepped forward, confidence in his smile—but Xu Ming caught the glint of tension in his eyes.
Qin Mo rose from his seat slowly, folding his fan and sauntering down to the arena like a predator who'd just spotted a wounded gazelle.
"Friend of Xu Ming?" Qin Mo asked, stretching his neck. "Let's see what kind of companions the slum rat keeps."
Lin Feng frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
The referee raised his hand.
"Begin!"
Qin Mo didn't wait.
He moved with an elegance so smooth it seemed unreal. His fan snapped open, releasing a wave of sharp, crescent-shaped Qi blades that cut through the air with precision.
Lin Feng met them with sword and footwork, parrying the first, dodging the second. He even managed to land a graze on Qin Mo's sleeve.
"Not bad," Qin Mo said. Then his smile dropped.
He moved.
In an instant, Lin Feng's blade was knocked from his hand.
A second later—
CRACK.
Qin Mo's palm struck Lin Feng's shoulder with a sickening sound. Bones shattered.
The crowd shouted in outrage.
"That was too far!" "The match was over!"
But Qin Mo didn't care. He raised his fan again.
Xu Ming's hand twitched at his side—but Lin Feng held up a bloody hand from the ground.
"Don't… don't step in. I can… still fight…"
Qin Mo chuckled and bowed mockingly.
"Winner—Qin Mo!"
The referee's voice cracked with uncertainty, but the match was over. Medics rushed to Lin Feng's side.
Xu Ming stepped toward them silently. His hands clenched. For the first time, the rage in his heart began to stir visibly.
Qin Mo passed him without looking.
"He should have known better," he murmured.
Xu Ming didn't reply.
But his eyes—his eyes burned.
As the final matches ended and the sun dipped lower, the announcer's voice rang clear across the arena:
"That concludes the Preliminary Stage of the Moonlight Tournament! The top thirty-two cultivators have been selected to advance to the next stage. These warriors have proven themselves in battle—now they shall be tested even further!"
Talismans lit up in the air above the platform, each displaying a name and affiliation:
Qin Mo – Qin Clan
Liang Fei – Liang Clan
Rong Yixuan – Rong Clan
Lin Tao – Azure River Sect
Xu Ming – Independent Cultivator
Du Shan – Mountain Crushing Sect
Zhao Ren – Crimson Edge Clan
Mei Lian – Jade Rain Pavilion
…and twenty-four others
Each name pulsed with faint Qi, casting shadows that seemed to flicker with destiny.
Xu Ming barely glanced at the full list.
His gaze lingered only on Qin Mo—and the bloodied figure of Lin Feng being carried off the field.
"This… changes everything."